by Cathryn Cade
"Oh, fine." Not sure if she was ticked off or ready to giggle like a teen—maybe both, Shelle slipped into the dressing room.
She pulled off her tee and tossed it over the top of the dressing room door. Outside, Moke made a sound of interest, and she grinned to herself in the mirror as she pulled the top on. She turned this way and that, considering. Then the dressing room door opened, and she yelped.
"Hey!" she said, glaring at the man filling the opening.
"Nobody can see past me," he muttered, but his gaze was on the mirror. He looked from her reflection to her, and nodded. "Get that one."
Then he reached down and shifted himself in his shorts, a pained look on his face. She couldn't help it—she snickered. "You like it that much, huh?"
"I like it on you that much." He stepped back and closed the door.
When Shelle came out, the top in her hand, Moke grabbed her arm and steered her to the men's sale rack. "Help me pick out a shirt."
"Why, you have a hot date tonight?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said, flipping through the hanging tees. "I do. You like this black one, or the blue?"
Blinking as if she'd been slapped in the face, Shelle struggled to focus on his choices. "Sure," she said. "Those are fine."
"Good." He grabbed them off the rack. "Let's go try 'em on."
"You go," she said, turning away. "I'll stay with Vicky."
She marched over to where her foster mom was looking through a rack of short dresses. Vicky held up a halter dress that was a drift of gold and green batik, with hammered gold beads dangling from a fringe. "Ooh, honey. You have to try this one," she said.
Shelle looked at the dress through a red haze of resentment. Big, dumb-ass biker. He wasn't the only one who could date, or even just hook up. "I love it."
The dress looked even better on. Shelle emerged from the dressing room at the same time as Moke, who she ignored. Instead, she tossed her head and smiled at Vicky, posing with her back straight, and hips canted to one side. "What d'you think?" she asked.
Vicky nodded. "Oh, yes," she approved. Her gaze flicked to the man standing silently nearby, and her smile widened. "Definitely that one."
"Awesome," Shelle chirped. "Maybe I'll go out tonight, see who else likes it."
She turned, her hair belling out, and sauntered back into the dressing room, snapping the door shut.
"Oh, did I forget to mention?" Vicky called to her. "We're having a guest to supper."
Shelle was busy wriggling out of the dress. "Who?" she answered, her face full of fabric.
"Why, Moke, of course," Vicky answered. "Now hand me the dress, hon. I'm going to get that for you."
Shelle froze, arms over her head, eyes wide in the mirror.
"You stuck?" Moke asked, looking in over the door. No problem for him, since he was so big. "Need any help with that?"
His gaze stayed politely on her face, even though she stood there in nothing but her panties. One did not wear a bra with a halter dress. She made a strangled noise of frustration. "No! Just...go away."
"Can't," he said. "I'm your shopping buddy."
She threw the dress at him.
Which he of course caught, chuckling under his breath. She growled under her breath. Teasing her with his 'hot date'.
She donned her bra and tee again, and smoothed her hair, eying herself uneasily in the mirror. She hadn't given herself away, had she?"
'Yeah, pretty much,' her reflection assured her silently. With a sigh, Shelle opened the dressing room door and stepped out.
Without a word, or another smirk, for which she would have maimed him—somehow, don't ask—Moke held out his hand to her. She put hers in it, and fingers threaded, they followed Vicky to the checkout counter, where Shelle bought her top, Vicky paid for Shelle's dress and Moke paid for two new tees and a pair of shorts.
Then he carried their shopping bags in one hand, and held her hand with the other. Vicky added more bags as they browsed a shop full of kitchen and home decor, another clothing shop where Shelle forgot she was mad at Moke and held up a polo shirt for him to see. The mossy green matched some of the colors in her new dress.
"Okay," he said. "Guess I can wear that for my date."
Oh. He really was going on a date. She yanked her hand free of his again, and moved to walk with Vicky. This time, he let her go.
Vicky fanned herself with a brochure. "Let's get some lunch," she said. "I need a cold drink."
So did Shelle—one with alcohol. They stopped at the place with the view of the bay, where luckily a breeze was blowing in under the awning. Unusually for her, Shelle had no appetite. Shelle ordered a salad like Vicky, who gave her a look. "You need to eat more than that, honey. I'm a chunky older lady. You're a healthy young woman."
"She can share my lunch," Moke said.
"No, thanks." Shelle drank her beer, and looked at the bay. She perked up when an athletic, blond guy cruised into view on a paddle-board. "I want to try that. Wonder if he'd give me lessons?"
A bikini-clad blonde girl appeared, paddling after the guy.
"Probably not," Moke said. "Either she'd use his face to pound sand, or I would."
She sent him a blistering glare. "You're going on a hot date, remember?"
Vicky held up her hands. "You kids get along, or I'm sending you away from the table."
Shelle, who had heard that before for real, wrinkled her nose.
Moke chuckled, and reached for her hand. "You're my date, tita. Thought you'd figure it out by now."
She stared at him. Then she mimed sticking a finger in her ear and wiggling it. "Must be something in my ear. 'Cause I never heard you ask me on a date, Matthew Ahuelo."
He squeezed her hand, his eyes twinkling. "Oops. So, you wanna go out with me after supper?"
She tossed her hair back. "Maybe. I'll let you know."
Vicky sighed. "Oy. I may need something stronger than this iced tea."
"She's always like this with me," Moke said, shaking his head. "Mean, nasty."
"You like the nasty part," Shelle mumbled, and then clapped her free hand over her mouth as Vicky gave her a look.
Moke leaned close to Shelle, his white smile flashing. "Shh, save the sexy talk for later, tita. When it's just you and me alone in the moonlight."
Vicky nodded wisely. "Ah, right. It's a full moon. That explains you two loony tunes."
"Hawaiian full moons are extra powerful," Moke said, nudging Shelle's bare knee with his under the table.
"Must be that moon-path on the water," she replied, curling her lip. "Maybe you could take a walk off the pier tonight, see how far you get."
He winked. "If you'll be my walk buddy, might be fun."
Vicky waved her hand to the waiter. "I'll have a pina colada here."
Shelle ordered one too. As a result, the rest of lunch was actually enjoyable. And it was a good thing Moke had ordered the full sea-food platter, because Shelle's appetite was back.
For food and more.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Shelle’s new dress was short, and dipped low in the front, the beaded fringe dangling over her breasts, and down her bare back from the halter ties.
On her feet, she wore a new pair of gold leather flip-flops Vicky had surprised her with. With gold beads sewn into the straps, they coordinated with her new dress in a just-right-for-Hawaii ensemble.
She even wore a new bracelet woven of several strings of glass beads and fresh-water pearls that Vicky had created at a local craft store.
"I must have been thinking of you when I made that," her foster mom said. "Doesn't suit me at all."
Shelle's eyes had filled with tears. "You're so sweet to me. Thank you."
The older woman hugged her tightly. "You deserve some sweet, my honey girl. So proud of your courage and hard work. You stay with it, you'll end up with a wonderful life, you'll see."
"Wouldn't have made it this far if you hadn't made me believe that," Shelle told her, and sniffled.
&nbs
p; "Well you keep on keeping on."
Feeling wrapped in love and reassurance, Shelle dressed for the evening with a smile on her face.
Supper was fun, after Shelle got past the tension of wondering if Moke and Dave would hit it off. They did. Moke treated Dave with the same courtesy he did Vicky. Shelle liked this side of him a lot. He'd been sweet with his young cousin, too.
She seemed to be the only one he teased relentlessly. But, she had to admit the way he looked at her in her new dress made up for his smart mouth.
"Can't decide if I want to take you out for a drink," he told her in a low voice, "Or just take you out to Nawea and get my hands on you."
She smiled at him. "I might just decide to let you do both," she whispered back.
He leaned in close enough to nuzzle her cheek. "Let me know, tita. I'm all in."
Tonight, so was she.
After supper, Vicky shooed the two of them out. "Go have fun. The night is young, and so are you."
Moke leaned to give her a careful hug. "Mahalo, for supper, and for sharing your girl with me."
She patted his arms. "You just take care of her. And Shelle, give me a call if you're staying out all night."
Eek. Shelle avoided Moke's gaze and tried to look nonchalant. "Okay. Thank you for dinner."
She went to collect her purse from the bedroom, and at the last moment, slipped a change of undies, her new top and russet shorts into her bag.
Then she went to join Moke.
In the red pickup truck, Moke leaned across the console and slid a big hand under her hair, cupping the back of her neck. "Need some dessert, tita."
Mmm, so did she. She leaned into him, and their lips met. She moaned at the plush velvet of his lips on hers, the moist silk of inner lip, and the taste of his tongue gliding against hers. He groaned. Pulling her closer, he deepened the kiss. Shelle reached to hold him, her hands in his hair. It fell from his neat man bun, and rolled down over his shoulder, and her bare arm.
"I love your hair," she whispered, then dove in for another kiss.
He groaned, his forehead against hers. "Pretty nuts about yours too. Babe...I can't take you anywhere public. Not gonna last."
She smiled, stroking his face and throat. "You could fuck me here, then we could—"
He chuckled, the sound laced with frustration and amusement. "Tita, we're in the street outside your mama's condo, and it's still light. Gonna get arrested for indecent exposure."
She drew back, and made a face. "Oh, right. It's all your fault. If you hadn't started kissing me."
"If you didn't look that way," he countered. He sat back, and tossed his hair back from his face. "So, you wanna go back to my place? I gotta private beach." He waggled his brows at her.
She laughed. "Now that is a classy come-on line. Sure, big guy. I wanna see your...beach."
He started the truck, revving the engine. "Oh, I'll show you my beach, and my beach balls. Get your seatbelt on, we're going."
She did, laughing, and they rolled away from the curb, and along the street.
An hour later, they lay on a blanket on the beach at Nawea. Both of them were panting, sweat cooling on their skin. The sun had gone down, and the dusk lay deep and purple around them, the first stars beginning to twinkle in the sky above. The surf washed gently onto the reef behind them.
"Mmm," Shelle breathed, turning onto her back. "Love how quiet it is here."
"Uh-huh," he agreed. "Peaceful. Although, wasn't a few minutes ago, when you were hollering my name."
"I was not hollering your name," she said with dignity. "I was just...calling it. Making sure you were paying attention."
He laughed, and found her hand with his. "Oh, believe me, I was paying attention. Tita, that thing you do with your pussy when you come...fuck, it's nice."
She considered this. "I'd take credit, but it's all due to your big cock."
"Well, keep doin' it."
They lay in silence for a while. Then he rolled toward her, laying his hand on her bare belly. "I been doing some reading."
She looked over at him, her hand on his. "Oka-ay. What about?"
"About your, uh, condition. About kleptomania." When she flinched, he stroked his hand up over her abdomen, soothing her. "That's bad shit you have to deal with, tita."
She worked on keeping her breath even, when she wanted to shove him away, leap up and run. She settled for jiggling one leg. "Yes...it's not much fun."
He stroked his thumb over the valley between her ribs. "I'm sorry I called you a thief."
She laughed bitterly. "Why? I am one. Have been since...since I can remember." Unable to stay still, she sat up, and pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them.
He sat up too, staying close at her side. "Yeah. How...how'd you know, though? I mean, all kids steal some shit. I stole Daniel Ho'omalu's U of H Rainbow Warriors sweatshirt when I was seven, 'cause it was nice, and I knew fuckin' well I was never getting one."
"What happened?" she asked, her chin on her knees.
"You want a towel?" he asked, his hand on her bare back. "Or the blanket?"
She shook her head. "Thanks, I'm fine. It's warm tonight. Keep talking."
He nodded. "Right, so Daniel's father talked to me. I was scared shitless. But he got down on one knee, looked me in the eye. Told me he got why I did it, but that if me and Daniel and David were gonna be friends, I couldn't steal from them. Then he gave me a new sweatshirt—the same one. Bought it just for me. And that was...that's the Ho'omalus for you. Good people."
He cleared his throat, and stroked back a lock of her hair with a finger. "How 'bout you?"
She blew out a shaky breath. "I was five, I guess. Stole a crayon that was pretty. The teacher slapped my fingers so hard they stung for an hour and told me I was a bad girl."
"Fuck," he muttered.
"Yeah, she disappeared later that year. Think she hit some other kid in the face. Anyway, just made me mad. Sure didn’t stop me. After that I just made sure I didn't get caught. And that's how my career in crime began. My parents and I lived in a shitty little apartment in public housing. Any money they got was just as likely to go to getting high as it was to food or clothes for me. My mom died when I was seven...then it was just me and my dad. And he went completely off the rails after that. They took me out of there when I showed up to school on a Monday, in the same clothes I left in on Friday. Hadn't had a bath, or much to eat since then."
"Anyway, I ended up in foster care. The first lady was okay, but then she got pregnant and sick as a dog, couldn't handle three foster kids, so we moved on. Second one, they had a son. He liked to sneak into my room at night. Stopped when I smashed his face with his own baseball bat. I was out of there the next day, and labeled a troublemaker and a liar."
Moke reached over, put his arms around her and lifted her bodily onto his lap, where he held her close. He was quivering, she realized with surprise. She patted his chest. "Are you cold?"
"No, I'm pissed," he ground out. "Fuck...I wanna go back and break some heads."
"Hey, big guy, it was a long time ago. Anyway, the next place was with Vicky and her first husband. Me and two other kids, younger boys. It was...it was good. She was strict, but she really listened, you know? And she gave the best hugs ever."
He leaned his face into her hair. "Glad you ended up with her, tita. Tell me some more."
She sighed into his throat, twining his hair around her fingers. "I was already stealing more shit by then...couldn't seem to stop. At school, I was one of those foster kids, and you know, lot of the other kids had way nicer stuff. So sometimes, I'd just help myself to that candy, or that cool pencil, or that new toy. And when those kids from regular homes, with moms and dads and money, they'd be looking around for their treasure. I'd sit and watch them, and I felt powerful. Like I'd stolen a little bit of their happy, their privilege. And nobody knew. It was my special secret—the only one I had."
She thought for a moment. "I guess I started escalating when
I was in middle school. Hormones and all those crazy emotions, you know? I started stealing shit off the teacher's desk, and from the convenience store on the way home. It was a rush. A guilty one, because I knew it was wrong, and I liked my teacher, it wasn't that I was mad at her, but...the rush was just bigger. I got to where I needed that. Whenever shit went wrong, I needed it. Of course, then I got caught—by the security cameras at the store. Shit, I was scared. I thought for sure Vicky would tell me to pack up my stuff, she was done. But instead, she gave me a hug, told me I was stronger than that, and took me to counseling."
"Good," he said, stroking her hair. "Did that work? I read where that's like the best way to get—not cured, but better. Counseling."
"Yep. They tried giving me anti-depressants too, but they just made me puke. I was not popular on the school bus for a while."
He snorted a laugh. "Fuck no. I remember—I'll tell you later. So you went to counseling. That when you decided to be one?"
"Yeah, it was. My counselor was totally cool. She had her hair in those rasta braids, you know, that just stay in, and get kind of knotted and fuzzy, but they looked cool on her. She also had a nose piercing. And she skateboarded. I wanted to be her...and she told me I could, if I worked really hard to get better, and got my grades up, and stayed out of trouble with boys. 'Cause boys were lusty, and not in control of their penises."
He gave a bark of laughter, his chest quivering again. "Lusty? She really say that?"
"Yeah, she did, and we laughed." She sighed. "I liked her so much. It still took me a long time to get well, though. But after that, when I gave in and stole something...this is weird, but I'd go back and put the stuff back. Almost got caught doing that a time or two."
"Ah. How you got so good at it, huh?"
She nodded.
"I just have one important question," he said gravely.
"Okay." She could take it, whatever he asked.
"Did you ever learn to skateboard? 'Cause I'd love to watch your ass and legs up on a board."
She elbowed him, and he fell back on the blanket laughing as he fended her off.
She lay on his chest, idly stroking his bicep. They were one of her favorite parts of him. "So did you steal anymore?" she asked.